[Will had taken his journal with him as he went to walk through the garden, thinking of checking to see what his closest friends had been up to. But as he walked, his thoughts strayed to the time of year. This would be his third birthday here in Paradisa, and his third Christmas.

Three years since he had seen his brothers and sisters. Three years since Bran and the Drews had forgotten so much of their friendship.

It was a lot to think about. Eventually Will finds his way to a bench. And with his thoughts on Christmas and on his home, he begins to softly singsome of the carols that came first to mind. The ancient melodies sung in a high clear voice echo out through the garden and across the journals hauntingly.

Eventually Will comes, as he might have expected, to Old King Wenceslas. Without thinking he begins on his part, the pageboy's part, which he had last sung with his brothers and with Merriman.]

Sire, the night is darker now And the wind blows stronger Fails my heart, I know not how, I can go no longer.

[And Will falters, knowing that there was no one here who could take the next part.]

[Will opens the journal, and stares at the blank page for a while as he tries to decide what to say.]

It is very quiet here.

[He had thought about going on the expedition with the others, but in the end Will's mind for practicality had pushed him into staying behind like all the times before. As much as he would like to see more of the world, he knew that without his magic he would be of very little use. No, it was better to stay behind and watch over the castle.]

[Will was perched in one of the apple trees, looking down thoughtfully at the large green apple in his hands. He remembered another apple tree, long ago. The last time he had plucked an apple in such a way, it had been in the Lost Land. But he had been with Bran and Gwydion then.

Will wondered how Bran was doing these days. Even if the boy had forgotten his heritage, Will would hope that something of their friendship had remained. But he did not know, He had been taken to Paradisa too soon to know that,

Inevitably, Will's thoughts turned to what they had spoken of, among the apple trees.]

They taught me my trees once, long ago. Seven trees there are with virtues, and apples among them. Alder, the tree of fire. Willow, the tree of enchantment. Holly for protection and Hazel for healing and Birch for renewal. Oak, the king of all trees.

And apple. [He is silent for a long moment.] It is said that the apple is a tree of immortality.

I would wish that there was some way of preventing memory loss in this place.

[Will was still quietly upset about the entire thing. He'd lost his memories once. Through illness. And it had been one of the most terrible things he had ever experienced. He had not appreciated the castle's reminder.]

He'd failed in something important for the first time in his life. He had been forced to face the harsh of truth of what his duty to the Light might mean., one day.

More than anything else right now, Will desperately wished that he could speak to Merriman. Even though he knew that there was no way that he could speak to his master. Even if he had been home, he wouldn't have been able to speak to him. Merriman had left with the rest of the Old Ones.

Will missed his family. He missed Stephen and James and Paul and Robin and all of his other brothers and sisters. And most of all he missed Bran.

But there was nothing he could do about his homesickness or his desperate wish to be with some of his kind again. The best he could do was find something to occupy himself. Something useful.]

Please, does anyone need any help with anything right now? Or could someone suggest a book to read?

[Will awakes slowly and stares up at the ceiling. There had been a dream, and perhaps even more than a dream. He was quite sure of that. But the details fled from his memory even as he tried to clutch onto them.

Only one thing remained. A part, a piece of a rhyme. And the certainty that it must be told.

Slowly he begins reciting it to the journal in a quiet singsong voice, almost sounding like he was reciting a children's rhyme.]

Looking in windows, knocking on doors,They need to take seven and they might take yours.

[The opening of the art gallery had gotten Will to start thinking about his brother Max, who was away at art school. And from there Will had started to think about his other siblings. Stephen, away in the Merchant Marines. The twins, Robin and Paul. Barbara and Gwen and Mary. James, only a year older than Will.

[Will was himself again. He was once again the Youngest of the Old. And with that self knowledge and power came once again his worries over these he had made friends with in this place. As he stands there on the roof of the communications building, he casts out his mind in search of those with like minds.He could not touch minds with no ability to speak in this manner. But those he could, he would offer the chance to speak.]

Rather a lot of children in the castle now, aren't there? [Will pauses, and then continues with a small laugh.]

Not even my family ever had quite this many. Even from what I remember of my older brother's stories. Of course I was the youngest, so I've never been around kids much. But I guess I could still offer my help.

[Another pause, as Will thinks over his words.]

There is one other thing, I suppose. I've been thinking a lot recently over some questions. Has anyone ever wondered what happens to a story what it finishes? What the people in a story do in the after?